Chapter 55: The Royal Palace

For a moment, Marcel didn’t respond, he simply stared at Asher. Of all the answers he had expected, this was not one of them. He had expected refusal, anger, perhaps a demand that he find some other way to deal with the palace without involving Asher at all. Instead, Asher had voluntarily chosen to return.

Marcel’s gaze searched his face, as though he were looking for some sign that he had misunderstood.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

The answer came without hesitation.

Asher folded his arms across his chest, leaning back slightly against the worn reception desk.

"I’m not going back because Aaron wants me there," he said. "And I’m definitely not going back because I accept his claim." His eyes dropped briefly to his bare finger. "I’m going because I want this matter finished. I want them to see the ring is gone with their own eyes. I want the king to know that whatever claim Aaron thought he had over me no longer exists. And I don’t want Aaron deciding that because I ran away, he has the right to come after me."

Marcel’s eyes softened slightly. "So you intend to return on your own terms."

"Exactly." Asher exhaled. "I’m going there because I want to stand in front of them and tell them myself that I’m free."

Marcel understood, he understood better than he would have a few weeks ago.

Adrian, however, seemed to have reached a different conclusion.

"I’m coming."

"No." Marcel’s answer was immediate, and almost rude. "Two Vampire Lords arriving at the human palace under present circumstances could be read as a declaration. I will not give the court an excuse to escalate this into something larger than a claim dispute. You will return to the manor and wait."

Adrian’s jaw tightened. For a moment it looked as if he might argue. Then his gaze flicked to Asher, and whatever calculation he was running resolved into reluctant acceptance.

"Fine," he said. "I’ll be waiting at home. Try not to start a war without me."

Marcel gave him one last warning look before turning toward the door.

"We leave tonight."

Asher glanced toward the window. Darkness had already settled over Cinder Street. He was exhausted, and body still carried the weariness of days spent traveling through forests and beastkin territory, but he wanted this over.

He wanted the palace to stop hanging over his head, and Aaron’s claim buried where it belonged.

So he nodded. "Tonight."

*****

The journey began quietly. Marcel drove while Asher sat beside him, staring through the window at the dark roads passing beneath the carriage lamps.

For the first hour, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was simply tired.

Eventually, Asher leaned his head against the seat. "There was something I didn’t tell you."

Marcel glanced at him, curious and concerned at the same time. "What?"

"The Phoenix Matriarch." Asher replied, and Marcel’s expression changed immediately. He knew the Matriarch, they weren’t friends, but he wouldn’t say they were enemies either. Marcel just knew that the Matriarch and the beastkin didn’t show up if something wasn’t serious.

"The Matriarch?"

Asher nodded before telling Marcel everything. He explained how the Matriarch had known he was coming, bow she had removed the ring with a single drop of Phoenix tears, and how she had told him she had seen a future where kingdoms burned and borders collapsed.

He told him about the vision. About himself standing at the center of it, and finally, he told him what the Matriarch had asked.

"She wanted me to give up my gift."

Marcel’s hands tightened slightly around the steering. He hadn’t expected that part.

"Your fortune-telling."

"Yes."

Asher stared out the window.

"She said she could sever the blessing. I would still be myself, but I wouldn’t be able to see the future anymore."

Marcel was quiet for several seconds.

"And you refused." Marcel stated rather than ask because he could still feel that Asher was different from the regular human.

"I did."

"Why?"

Asher looked down at his hands. "Because it’s part of me." His voice was quieter now. "I’ve spent too much time having other people decide what parts of my life they get to control. I wasn’t going to let someone cut away something that belongs to me just because they’re afraid of what other people might do with it."

Marcel’s expression softened, he was proud. "You made the right choice."

Asher turned toward him.

"You really think so?"

"I do." Marcel’s answer was immediate. "Your gift may be dangerous in the wrong hands, but that does not mean you should be forced to destroy it because other people are afraid of what you can do."

Asher watched him for a moment, he hadn’t expected such calm words from Marcel.

"You don’t think I’m being selfish?" Asher inquired, genuinely curious to know Marcel’s answer.

"No." Marcel replied, his eyes fixed on the road. "I think you finally made a decision for yourself."

Asher smiled faintly. "That’s what I thought too."

They continued into the night. For a while, Asher allowed himself to relax. The road was quiet, and the palace was still a few hours away. He closed his eyes and didn’t notice when Marcel glanced toward him, and the faint smile that touched the Vampire Lord’s mouth.

"You should sleep," Marcel said.

"I’m not sleeping."

"You’ve been awake for nearly a day. Sleep, I’ll wake you once we’re there."

Asher didn’t argue anymore, and a few minutes later, he was asleep.

By the time the palace came into view, the sky was completely dark, and the crescent moon provided very little illumination

Asher woke slowly. He straightened in his seat and rubbed his face. "We’re here?"

"Almost." Marcel answered smoothly.

He slowed the car as they approached the outer checkpoint, already lowering the window for the expected exchange with the guard. Asher saw the first figures in palace livery, and felt the wrongness a half-second before the world broke open.

The ambush was fast and coordinated. Light flared—alchemical flash charges designed to stun and disorient. The car rocked under a heavy impact from the side.

Marcel was already moving, coat flaring as he left the driver’s seat in a blur of vampire speed, but the attackers had planned for that. Silver-edged nets, weighted chains, the particular tools human courts kept for occasions when a Vampire Lord needed to be brought down without a prolonged public fight.

Marcel took two of them apart before the third and fourth wave closed. Asher heard the snarl of pure fury, the crack of bone, and the wet sound of someone failing to stay standing. Then something struck Marcel hard enough to drive him to one knee. A second impact put him down fully, silver bright against dark cloth, his body convulsing once under the binding before going dangerously still.

"Marcel—!"

Asher lunged for the door, but hands caught him from the other side of the car—human hands, gloved.

He fought but he didn’t really stand much of a chance.

Marcel remained pinned and unmoving under the net, and a hood went over Asher’s head. The last thing the fortune teller remembered before blacking out was a low familiar voice calling out his name.